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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27758941">Dorian's Best Feature</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccom/pseuds/maccom'>maccom</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Sexual Content, Short One Shot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:48:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,601</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27758941</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccom/pseuds/maccom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"How bad does the Inquisitor want to be?"</p>
<p>Writing what I wish we'd witnessed - the Skyhold bedroom scene with a wee bit more depth.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dorian's Best Feature</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Canon dialogue at the start, but that ends pretty quickly.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I like playing hard to get," Dorian whispers, keeping his hands to himself. The ball's in the Inquisitor's court, as it were; for the first time in a long time Dorian is allowing the other body to lead this dance. A small, pathetic voice is telling him he shouldn't take the risk - that the Inquisitor should not be distracted, that an elf and a Vint are as unlikely to succeed as Blackwall is to shave, that the news of what he intends to do will send ripples all the way back home - but he tunes it out, <em>drowns</em> it out, forces it to the furthest corners of his mind as he holds on to hope with everything he has.</p>
<p>Lavellan turns around to face him. Small, callused hands rest on Dorian's hips as the Inquisitor's eyes roam up his body. Dorian waits, caught somewhere between fear and excitement. He doesn't want to ruin the moment, but <em>Maker</em>, if it goes on much longer he may scream.</p>
<p>Desire demons were easier.</p>
<p>"And now?" Lavellan's eyes meet his, and there's understanding there, understanding and lust and Dorian can barely get the words out but he has to, he has to say <em>something</em> - to explain how far he's truly fallen for this freckled elf with strange magic -</p>
<p>"I'm gotten," he says, and he sees the elf's eyes light up a moment before he leans forward. Lips against his own - soft, shifting, parting - and tongue, and teeth, and -</p>
<p>Their last kiss hadn't been like this. It had been perfectly chaste in comparison. Dorian had worried Lavellan wouldn't want to go much further - that he'd want to take things slowly - but there is nothing slow about the hands wandering up his back or the hips grinding against his own. Lust ignites him and makes him move; even as their hands wander Dorian backs Lavellan up until they reach the bed. A little shove and the elf's on his back; Dorian climbs on top, his knees on either side of the elf's torso as he watches the Inquisitor watch him. He's cute when he's flushed, Dorian notes, just before biting Lavellan's neck. The elf tenses, throwing his head back as his hands curl into the bedcovers, and Dorian gently licks the skin between his teeth. The moan that escapes the Inquisitor sends waves of heat through Dorian's abdomen and then Lavellan's hands are roaming, teasing, pulling at cloth and leather and buckles.</p>
<p>"I hate your clothes," Lavellan grumbles.</p>
<p>"Says the elf we only just convinced to wear shoes."</p>
<p>Lavellan laughs, a breathy laugh that turns into a gasp as Dorian sucks hard at the place where neck and shoulder meet. "Why are there so many blighted clasps?"</p>
<p>Dorian sits up straight to straddle the Inquisitor. He smirks at the view beneath him before looking at his own chest, at the straps and ties and buckles that hide his skin away. "<em>Veshante kaffas.</em> I should've worn a robe."</p>
<p>"What - like a southern mage?" Lavellan's eyes dance with laughter. "Fur trim and all?"</p>
<p>"If it means I can hyke up my skirts when I need to -" Dorian wiggles his hips, feeling the Inquisitor harden beneath him. "I don't think you'd object."</p>
<p>"No," the elf murmurs, his eyes glazed. "I don't think I would. Do that again."</p>
<p>If there's one place Dorian follows orders it's the bedroom. He does as he's told and more, managing to unbutton Lavellan's shirt while he keeps his mouth busy. The Inquisitor fights to undo two measly clasps on Dorian's gear, revealing a touch more shoulder.</p>
<p>"Pathetic," Dorian murmurs. "One would think you aren't even trying."</p>
<p>"Ever the perfectionist."</p>
<p>Dorian grins, guilty as charged, and then they're rolling sideways and the Inquisitor's on top, pinning Dorian's arms to the bed. He's surprised for a moment - and so turned on he's having trouble breathing - but Lavellan's mouth is back on his and it's very hard to think. He feels the Inquisitor's hands leave his wrists to again fumble with his buckles, pulling and fighting to get him undressed. Dorian takes pity on the poor elf - apparently the Anchor's no good at undressing - and helps with a few of the clasps he can reach. He's not sure how clothed he still is but Lavellan's hand's found its way down his pants and what else really matters? Dorian's mind stutters, frozen by those fingers, and he can't stop the moan before it's started.</p>
<p>"Ah, Pavus. Aren't you a wonder."</p>
<p>He preens. The news isn't new but he's always happy to hear it. He sits up and finangles his way out of the rest of his top, flinging it off the bed with a flourish. It's the most movement he's capable of with a hand around his cock and he drops onto his back, smirking up at the Inquisitor as the man lazily strokes him. "I believe I might be winning."</p>
<p>"I really think I am," Lavellan counters, and then he's up, standing by the bed, and he doesn't bother with the belts or the buckles or the strings on Dorian's pants as he <em>pulls</em>. Dorian's working up a retort as his pants fly across the room, a warning to play nice, but the Inquisitor's head dips between his hips and it's all Dorian can do not to yell.</p>
<p>Would Mother Giselle appreciate knowing her precious Herald's tongue gets just as much credit as Dorian's? Probably not.</p>
<p>He runs one hand through the Inquisitor's hair as the man's tongue curls around his cock, idly wondering if he'd truly been the one doing the seducing. Lavellan knows what he's doing - knows what he wants - and Dorian's more than happy to go along for the ride.</p>
<p>Speaking of...</p>
<p>"You do know you're missing out on my best feature?"</p>
<p>The Inquisitor hums a question, the vibrations rattling Dorian's brain as the elf doesn't even pause in his ministrations. It takes Dorian a few gasping seconds to get his breath back. "You southerners, always talking with your mouth full - <em>tch</em>! We should have taught you manners."</p>
<p>"Manners, Lord Pavus?" There's a gleam in the Inquisitor's eyes as he drops Dorian's cock and stands. "Manners from a magister?"</p>
<p>He reaches up to grab Lavellan's chin, pulling him down for a flurry of quick kisses. "I - am - <em>not</em> - a - magister -" He stops, glances down, and frowns. "You're still wearing too much." Lavellan's out of his breeches in seconds, his shirt following a breath later, and Dorian reaches out a hand to trace one of the bigger scars on the elf's abdomen. <em>My amatus.</em> He doesn't say it, won't take the risk; Lavellan wouldn't understand but that's a word Dorian will keep to himself. It's odd to see the criss-cross network of scars on the thin elf's frame; Dorian follows a longer one down the man's left arm before taking the hand in his own. The Anchor's calm, hidden, the smallest pull of magic, and Dorian brings the hand closer to him to slip one finger between his lips. He sucks gently - <em>gently</em> - and meets the Inquisitor's eyes as his tongue swirls around the tip.</p>
<p>"You were saying?" Lavellan says slowly, his eyes bright with desire. "About your best feature?"</p>
<p>Dropping the man's hand, Dorian rolls to his side and pats his own ass, giving it the same light taps he might give a couch if he wanted a cat to jump on it. He can't think of anything clever to add but it doesn't matter; the Inquisitor's tongue's back in his mouth and the man's hands are pulling him to the edge of the bed, curling his legs back, and then -</p>
<p>"Ah. <em>Fenedhis.</em>"</p>
<p>Dorian rolls his eyes, but never say he comes unprepared. He'd seen the unlabeled jar on the bedside table during his last visit and hadn't commented on it - finally learning a little propriety! - but it is easy enough to pull a fragment of magic through the Veil, to summon the barest touch of power, and the jar floats into his hands.</p>
<p>"Magic serving man," he says, handing the Inquisitor his own jar of lubricant. A funny tickle starts in his belly and winds up in his throat; he clamps down on his tongue to stop his mad giggles at the look on the elf's face. Lavellan's both embarrassed and relieved, and it's a cute look for someone with as much power as this Herald.</p>
<p>It lasts only seconds. Lavellan spins the jar's top and tosses the lid over his shoulder, but stops to meet Dorian's gaze before going any further.</p>
<p>"You want me?"</p>
<p>The question sends shivers of excitement through Dorian. It's a bit of a silly question with his ass bare and his legs wide and the proof of his arousal standing tall and obvious right between his thighs - but Dorian understands why he asks. He understands why it matters, as he understands why <em>this</em> matters, and he sits up to give the man he honest answer he deserves.</p>
<p>"I want you."</p>
<p>There. He's said it. The words are out and yes! He still lives! Lightning has not struck him, the Maker has not descended to smite him, and - most importantly - Lavellan has not turned and run screaming from the room.</p>
<p>Fuck the rest of them. Courtiers, ambassadors, Chantry sisters, his parents - anyone and everyone who might judge. <em>This</em> is what matters; <em>this</em> is why he stayed after Haven. Saving the world will be a remarkable feat, but right now nothing can compare to the look on the Inquisitor's face -</p>
<p>Other than his cock, of course.</p>
<p>Wearing a grin and nothing else, Dorian reaches up and pulls his elf into bed.</p>
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